Shadows of Maybe
by vader-incarnate
Summary: In a world where the Dark Side triumphed years before, the man who would have been Luke Skywalker catches up to the woman who would have been Mara Jade . . . [Dark LM AU Evil Luke!] COMPLETE!
1. Part I

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TITLE: "Shadows of Maybe"

SUMMARY: In a world where the Dark Side triumphed years before, the man who would have been Luke Skywalker catches up to the woman who would have been Mara Jade . . .

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AUTHOR'S NOTE(S): I tweaked the universe we know and love a bit, and this was the end result. No happy ending here. Two or three parts, I'll post the others once I finish with them. :)

Feedback is adored, cherished, ingested, and turned into happyfic. :-* ;-) (Yes, I know that's bribery. :-P Whatever works.)

= = = = =

"You're getting better at that."

Though the man -- _if he can be called that_, Mara reminded herself darkly -- did not say it loudly, his mocking taunt reverberated through the empty hall, echoing and rebounding upon itself a dozen times before the hall was reclaimed by silence once more. Although she could not risk being seen, she did not need to peek to know what he was doing; she could picture him there, at the entrance, scanning the area with a professional air before taking his first steps into the deserted room.

If the hall had been peopled before, the years had taken their toll on what must once have been a beautiful place. Hints of a time long gone littered the floor, and grime and dirt lingered upon what artifacts had been left behind by its inhabitants. The once-sapphire carpets had faded to a dull gray-blue, the once-shining details of its construction long rusted and deadened by time. The once-great architecture, the once-proud columns and pillars, sagged; she considered it a miracle they were standing at all.

Stars -- she was going to die in the Temple. Maybe the universe had a sense of humor after all.

"Better," he continued more softly as he casually surveyed the room, "but not nearly good enough." She picture the grim smile that crossed his face as he strode into the center of the hall. Strange, that such a blessed place would be once again profaned by his repulsive presence. "I know you're in here, Jade. Come out and face me."

She suppressed the shudder she felt at his words, the shudder she always felt when he spoke. Despite herself, she found that her heart was pounding faster now, and she could not hold back a shiver as she crouched lower behind the upended table that served as her hiding place. His presence was enough -- had always been enough -- to make her body betray her; whether it was from fear or something else she had long ago given up on guessing.

Because he was the Dark Lord of the Sith, and he was the most perfect man the Force had ever crafted. Aristocratic features, a chiseled profile that would put the most celebrated sculpture to shame. Short blond hair cut and trimmed and styled to Imperial perfection. Black robes enveloping a slight but powerful frame, capable arms that could wield a lightsaber or snap a neck with equal and frightening ease.

It wasn't fair, that a demon could be so exquisite.

But what had always fascinated her -- despite her struggles, despite her protests, despite knowing better -- had been his eyes. Cold and frigid, they were the color of the ice she had so rarely seen on Tatooine; they were a blue beyond that, even, vivid and pure enough to make the ice seem dull and washed out. But they _fit_ him so becomingly that she had no cause to object -- they were perfection, carved in ice and traced from stone. Arctic flawlessness in all their pristine and inexplicable glory.

He was Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith. 

He was ice, in all its wintry perfection.

And he was here to kill her, once and for all.

She knew how it would go -- she'd studied his methods before. First the mind games: the taunting, the jeers, the gibes. He would try to lure her out, would try to provoke her anger so he would gain the upper hand. But she would resist; she had taught herself to endure, and she would withstand anything he could throw at her.

"I killed your husband, you know."

Mara went rigid, despite her assurances to herself. _He killed him? He. . . Biggs . . . oh Force help me . ._ .

In retrospect, she should have known. She should have watched the videos, the last few seconds that R2 had been able to transmit back to Alliance headquarters before Biggs was blown out of the sky above Yavin. But she hadn't had the strength; she hadn't been able to even imagine looking at those records, much less examine them and watch for the Dark Lord to come and mercilessly gun down her husband. She should have guessed it was Vader himself who would have shot down the squadron leader and, in hindsight, she probably _had_ known, at some subliminal level.

She could imagine the cruel smirk that would adorning Vader's features now; he was feeling her turmoil. There had always been a connection between the two of them, a bond that no one had been able to explain. Though she had learned how to block him out, mostly, the link had always been more to his benefit than hers; he seemed able to feel things from her, no matter how much she reinforced her shields, but she never sensed anything from him.

__

Would I want to?

He spoke again. Arms clasped behind his back, he began pacing around the edges of the room, stalking and striding with a feline grace that bespoke of a strength and skill that took years or decades to attain. Here was a man who was powerful, knew it, and used it. "He died honorably, you know; it was a fair fight, an honorable one. He had almost made it, too, almost hit the exhaust shaft of the Death Star; maybe he would have, if I hadn't killed him then."

__

Oh stars, he's good at this.

He paused to let that sink in before continuing, slightly altering his plan of attack. "That one shot would have killed one million Imperial personnel. That's the crew of the Death Star, the stormtroopers aboard . . . everyone down to the last janitor . . . Does that seem like a lot?" he taunted; she could hear the smile in his voice. "In comparison to how many have the Death Star has affected since then? How many of your treacherous Rebel allies we have simply wiped out?"

He laughed, a low throaty chuckle that brought a tingle down her spine. "Alderaan . . . now that was a beautiful planet. And the backlash . . . simply intoxicating." He stopped again, gauging her reaction from the feelings that were no doubt flooding into his mind. Horror was predominant; following it were disgust, fear, anger . . .

She shuddered. The man was a monster. He spoke of murder, of Bigg's death and the mass destruction of Alderaan so casually; she wondered how many he had had to kill to inure himself so thoroughly to pain and blood and killing. He was a Darksider, one of the best . . . but she would withstand his goading. She _could_; she _had_ to.

"How's your son?" The question was asked almost casually, a friend asking another about her child.

She froze.

"Ah, don't act so surprised; we knew about him as soon as he was born. The Empire likes to keep tabs on the Force-strong in the galaxy and you, dear, are certainly one of them. Imagine my surprise when I learned who the father was, though -- of all the men in the galaxy, it was one of the ones I'd blown up above the Death Star . . . And what did you name the child? Ben? After Obi-Wan Kenobi, the last of the old Jedi?"

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that filled up the Temple, echoing back upon Mara's ears a thousand times and again. _Oh Force, no, not Ben . . . stars, not Ben . ._ .

"Kenobi was an old fool," Vader growled, once he stopped laughing. He was pacing faster now, caught up in his own anger and rage at the memories. Mara was too worried to care; she tried to duck lower, totally hide behind the upended table, but his words had ignited a passionate fire within her belly as well, and she cursed her inability to control these emotions as she had been taught.

"He was the last one I killed, the last to die of those who achieved the rank of Jedi Knight. I saved him for last, you see; I wanted him to suffer, to watch those he had known and loved cut down, the Jedi forces being whittled down little by little by the boy he was supposed to save. When I killed him, I made sure he knew every ounce of pain he had inflicted upon my father, every bit of the pain that kept the man who had been Anakin Skywalker alive for three weeks before he succumbed to the burns the lava caused. I tortured him for hours on end, shipped him off to the healers, and started again. In the end, I beheaded him with my lightsaber; it was more than he deserved."

She was breathing harshly now, his words stirring and stoking fires in her heart that she thought had long been extinguished. Old Ben Kenobi had lived on Tatooine for all the years before the Empire -- before _Vader_ had finally taken him away. She remembered him from childhood, the crazy old wizard of the Jundland Wastes, always alone and forlorn, the last of his kind for so many years . . . no one deserved the death Vader had given him. 

It was all she could do to stay behind the table. Her hand itched to grasp her lightsaber, to ignite it and cut down this . . . this abomination, this anathema, this _blister_ on the face of the galaxy once and for all . . .

"And yet . . . I wonder about your son. _Your_ Ben. Is he as strong as you are, perhaps? If he is, it might be more profitable to adopt him than to kill him . . . I need an heir, and having a child to be raised to the teachings of the Dark Arts, as I was --"

With an inarticulate cry of rage, the last of the Jedi launched herself at the Dark Lord.

= = = = =

TBC


	2. Part II

Before she knew what was happening, he had whirled around to face her, whipped out his saber, and caught her blow on his own scarlet blade. _Damn him to the deepest of the nine Sith hells . . . he knew where I was all along . . _.

"Mara Jade-Darklighter," he greeted her, a feral predator's grin gracing his perfect features even as he strained against her emerald blade. "So . . . _nice_ to finally meet you face-to-face."

"Luke Skywalker," she grunted, shifting her stance to accommodate his strength. He was strong, a lot stronger than he looked and a lot stronger than she was; chances were, after defeating a galaxy worth of Jedi, that he was the better fighter as well. "Same to you."

Silently, she cursed herself and her all-too-excitable temper; it was folly, stupidity, to even try to fight the Sith warrior when all the Jedi training she had managed to garner came from the books she had found in Kenobi's hut. She hadn't even built her own lightsaber; she found this green one under a pile of old clothing, junk that Kenobi had accumulated during his life and travels. It wasn't an extraordinary weapon -- it looked like something from at least a decade before the Clone Wars -- but it had served her purpose for all the years she'd been fleeing to escape this moment.

The grin was gone now, replaced by a snarl of fury. "There _is_ no Luke Skywalker," he growled, eyes shining with rage. "And there hasn't been for a very long time."

He pushed her back suddenly, and she fell to the floor in an embarrassing heap. He stalked closer as she scrambled back to her feet, careful to keep her green blade between herself and the Sith Lord. She was going to die here, but she wasn't going to give in without taking a few of his limbs with her.

They circled, two warriors caught once more in the deadly dance that dictated their lives. His smirk was back, and she silently cursed him for it -- this was his element, the battle, the dance. This was how he had killed his first Jedi at the tender age of eighteen and how he had killed Kenobi only a few short years before, ending the Purge. This was how he had killed Leia Organa Solo, first of the new Jedi order, and Kyp Durron, the last ... and, dammit, this was probably how he was going to end up killing her, too.

He lunged forward, attacking her with a flurry of shots that she barely managed to block. His movements were quick, fleeting, but powerful nonetheless; it was frightening to know that this was only the beginning. He was testing her, she knew; she also knew how pathetic her skills were. 

His smirk widened into a grin. "I didn't killing think the last of you would be this easy," he noted, before surging forward yet again.

He thrust and blocked and parried with a strength and speed she would have thought impossible; it was all she could do to keep from getting skewered, much less keep up with his blows. She stumbled backwards, swinging her lightsaber almost haphazardly, hoping against hope that she could find a way out of this.

The sounds of their duel echoed throughout the hall, reverberating and rebounding off the walls again and again, making it sound as if a hundred Jedi fought instead of just one. She blocked as many of his attacks as she could, kept from getting killed, barely survived while in defensive mode without giving a thought to offense. At this rate, the only way she would win was if a column would conveniently topple onto the Sith.

__

Yeah. Maybe in some alternate universe.

An instant too late, she recognized the butterfly pattern his weapon was tracing. Her lightsaber fell to the ground.

She dove for it, narrowly avoiding his blade even as she kicked his arm away. She grasped the hilt of her saber once more, even as she heard his hiss of pain, and scrambled back into the classic ready position.

__

This is insane, some part of her mind blubbered. _You've never used a lightsaber before, not in a real battle, and you're trying to kill Darth Vader, the man who slaughtered a galaxy worth of Jedi while you were still sitting at home on Tatooine --_

Shut up, she snarled in answer, bringing her green blade up once more to meet his attack. _Don't you know how_ not _good a time this is?_

His blows were coming faster now, stronger and quicker in succession, hardly giving her a chance to breathe. He was angry; she could see the wrath in his eyes as he rained blow after blow onto her blade, allowing her no chance to even think about slipping in an attack.

Suddenly, she realized that she could only sense the rage emanating from his eyes but in the very atmosphere around him as well. A dark cloud wafted around him, faintly at first but gaining in intensity with each angry blow. She imagined -- or perhaps she didn't -- the traces of blue energy that lanced through at infrequent intervals; they reminded her of lightning.

__

Gods, he's calling on the Dark Side --

With a sudden wrench from an invisible hand, her lightsaber flew from her grasp.

She threw a quick kick at him, unheeding of his superior strength and speed. He dodged quickly, ducking away and out of range before lashing out with his own kick and catching her squarely in the chest. 

She stumbled but stayed on her feet; she wasn't going to give in without a fight. To her surprise, he flicked off her lightsaber, tossing it casually away before settling into a crouch. It wasn't his style to fight with anything even approaching fairness --

__

He's just toying with me, that's all . . .

"Full of spirit, aren't you?" he asked in amusement, steadily circling around her. "The courage and determination . . . almost makes up for the pathetic lack of skill with a blade. Ah," he taunted with a mocking smile, "what a Darksider you would have made."

She kicked out again, this time aiming for his head -- _bring knee up, extend, snap back, hook around_ -- and following up with a series of punches. He blocked them all easily, a warrior as well-versed in the arts of unarmed combat as with a lightsaber blade. The Emperor hadn't been lax in training his apprentice, that was for sure, and the Dark Lord had enough strength in his slight frame to beat an opponent far larger than she.

She dropped, lashing out at his legs and trying to sweep his feet out from under him. He leapt over her foot, sent a kick to her ribs. She cried out in pain but scrambled to her feet once more: she could take this, she _had_ to take this . . .

He grinned. "Ready to give up, Jade?"

"In your dreams, Skywalker," she bit out. She was proud of herself; she wasn't quite panting from the exertion, despite the fact that her muscles were screaming in agony. _He_ on the other hand . . . he didn't seem fazed at all, still breathing normally. The only sign he'd been fighting was the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He ignored her gibe. "Suit yourself, Jade."

He began a flurry of his own attacks, quick kicks and punches that she managed to block with more confidence than she had had during the duel. She could do this; she'd spent far too much time as a child fighting with the boys when she should have been doing chores, and she was far better at hand-to-hand combat than she had ever been with a lightsaber . . .

She brought up a foot sharply, catching him in the solar plexus. He grunted, the breath whooshing out of his lungs as, for the first time since this battle began, she started to feel hopeful about the outcome of this fight. _Maybe he's not invincible after all . . . maybe he's only human . . ._

And was utterly surprised by his sudden backfist to her temple.

He kicked her feet out from under her and watched as she tumbled gracelessly to the ground. Still dazed, she scrambled away from him, unheeding of dignity or pride, and scuttled backwards until she felt her back connect with the wall.

He smirked. "Not too bad," he acknowledged. "But not nearly good enough."

"Go to hell!" she snapped, looking around desperately for escape. _This can't be the end, this can't be the end . . . why can't the good guys win just once?_

He smiled at her, a smile that didn't quite reach his cold, expressionless eyes. "Join me, Jade," he whispered, lowering his lightsaber and offering a hand. He looked earnest . . . against her own will, she found her eyes drawn to his face. Found herself tracing the smooth perfection of his jaw, his cheeks . . . "Join me as my consort, and we will rule the galaxy together till the end of our days."

She wavered. _Just take his hand_, some voice inside her urged. Some voice she typically scorned but didn't have the strength to ignore now. _Take his hand, and you'll find power beyond belief . . . knowledge beyond price . . . a life without death . ._ . She wavered, despite what she knew of the Dark, despite what she'd read, despite what she'd been told. Her hand twitched slightly, moving almost of its own accord as she raised it up, meaning to grasp his hand .. .

Despite herself, she found that she was lost in his eyes again. Gods, but they were alluring. They brought to mind peace, happiness . . . things they had no right to hint at . . .

Icy and cold, but blue beyond anything she had ever seen: they reminded her of the Tatooinian sky, on a bright day with the suns shining overhead, with the sand between her toes and the wind in her hair. She could remember her laughter, the happy days of childhood when she had played with the boys with all their games: playing at being Jedi, pilots, even -- once -- nerf-herders. Without a care in the world, without worrying about an Empire on her heels or a mad tyrant looking for her blood or a Dark Lord who was really the most enthralling man the Force had ever fashioned . . .

And wouldn't it be wonderful, just for a while, to forget all the pain? To take his hand and forget everything that had happened in the last few years? Forget the two damned droids that had showed up one morning, the message they carried, the old wizard of the Wastes, Biggs' determination to rescue the princess -- he had always wanted to join the Rebellion and this was the perfect chance -- and the meeting with the smuggler in Mos Eisley, the smuggler who would die fighting for a cause he didn't think he believed in. How they rescued the princess and lost the Jedi, how less than six hours later she'd lost Biggs . . .

And how, while he was getting shot down, how she discovered she was pregnant . . .

Wouldn't it be wonderful . . . just to forget all that pain, all that sorrow . . .

__

But forget the love, too . . . Biggs . . . Ben . . . Biggs' smile, Biggs' kiss, Biggs' eyes . . . Ben's hair, Ben's warmth against my chest, the adoring look he always reserved just for his mother . . .

She slashed his cheek with her nails, drawing four faint red lines down his perfect cheek.

He drew back, hissing. She raised her head and gazed back defiantly, emerald eyes shining as she rejected his offer, as any Jedi should: "Over my dead body, scum."

He looked back down at her ... and grinned. She shuddered; his grin was exultant, looking for all the world like it belonged to a little boy who had just been given the galaxy's greatest toy. And, indeed, that was what was happening, wasn't it -- he'd just been given a new toy to play with, and he was going to enjoy it for a very long time. His smile could have lit the dark side of Endor . . . gods, it wasn't _right_ that such a smile should belong on this face, of all faces . . .

"Oh well. Just thought it'd be polite to offer," he quipped. He brought up his hand, fingers splayed, and she slammed into the wall with agonizing force. 

= = =

TBC


	3. Part III

__

Pain.

It was mind-numbing, excruciating ... she wondered, vaguely, if he had broken anything, before coming to the realization that _everything_ hurt: her head, her chest, her arms ... even her toes, it seemed. Even her hair. She fought against unconsciousness, reaching for the Light to sustain her this one last time, to give her the dignity to die as a Jedi should, as the _last_ of the Jedi should --

And she found it. She drew it in quickly, nearly sobbing in relief, and let its warmth flow through her battered body. Carefully, she directed it towards her wounds, towards her sore and aching muscles, towards the painful bruises and lacerations she'd picked up during the fight. Slowly -- too slowly for her comfort, but it would have to do -- the pain began to abate and her mind began to clear.

He was watching her, a quizzical expression upon his face. "I didn't think you'd know how to do that yet," he told her, raising an eyebrow. "Even that much control of the Force could have helped you earlier, you know."

She opened her mouth for a sharp retort -- or a multilingual hypothesis on his ancestry, whatever came out first -- before coming to the realization that she couldn't.

She couldn't open her mouth. She couldn't move her jaw at all. In fact, she couldn't _move_ at all.

She fought to move, to fight back, to win back control of her seemingly paralyzed muscles; she struggled to stir her head the tiniest bit, all to no avail. He held her against the wall with a powerful Force-grip, held her pinned and frozen like a giant insect for his inspection. She wanted to spit, to curse, to howl her fury at this black-clad monstrosity -- and found that she could do little more than glare at him.

So she glared.

He laughed, the sound of it once more echoing off the walls for what seemed to be forever, before dying in the silent oblivion of the abandoned Temple. "So feisty," he complimented, sending her an amused glance. He looked at her thoughtfully, standing with his arms crossed behind his back and his legs splayed, ignoring the blood now dripping down into his black collar. He was smiling, a self-satisfied little smirk that sent tremors up and down her immobile spine.

__

Like a little boy inspecting his new toy ... albeit an insane, sadistic, and evil little boy ...

"Whatever shall I do with you, dear?" he mused, ignoring her poisonous glowering. "It would be a shame to kill you, because then you'd be all gone -- but, still, it'd be so much _fun_."

He took a step closer, reaching out a hand for her face, and she fought to draw back, to flinch away, but couldn't do anything more than stare at him in wide-eyed shock. She didn't _want_ to die, didn't _want_ it to end here, after so long, but no matter how hard she tried to move, she couldn't; his control of the Force was unmatched, rivaling that of some of the greatest Jedi masters and far surpassing her own. He brought a hand to her head -- 

-- and withdrew the clasps that held her hair pinned up. She had put her hair up before the fight, knowing that it would get in the way, but now ... he took them out one by one, letting loose the cascade of fiery hair that habitually hung to her shoulders.

"So much beauty," he whispered, looking into her wide eyes. His expression was unreadable, his eyes cold and impassive. Or was there a hint of something there ... "So much beauty should never be tamed."   
  
Abruptly, he turned away and began to pace, his dark cloak whirling behind him as he strode forward and back, never more than a meter away from her. "I didn't expect her to be so beautiful," he growled seemingly to himself, almost snarling with what sounded surprisingly like desperation. He spoke quietly, but he was close enough and the Temple was silent enough that his whispers carried over to her ears.   
  
_That_ certainly didn't conform to his normal patterns ... and, stars, she knew she looked anything but beautiful at the moment. Perhaps the years on the run had taken care of the excess weight from childbirth, but they had also taken their toll in other ways, especially during these last few days. She was dirty, exhausted, bone-weary ... not exactly the quintessence of beauty, and not exactly someone the Dark Lord would look at with such a worshipful gaze ...   
  
She allowed herself to take comfort, briefly, in knowing that her son was safe, far, far from here. Before she left for this planet and for what would almost undoubtedly turn into a suicide mission, she had entrusted him to Winter's capable care. The white-haired woman was already watching over the Solo children, had already managed to protect them from the countless kidnapping attempts that seemed to go with their last name, so what was little Ben Darklighter compared to that ...   
  
He stopped pacing, suddenly turning back around to face her, the smirk back in place and eyes once more the impassive cubes of ice she had come here expecting. He seemed to have pushed the other issues aside, for the moment, meeting her defiant gaze with steady eyes that screamed his resolve. She would have shuddered if she could. "Mara Jade-Darklighter," he purred, tasting her name on his lips and tongue. "Mara Jade-Darklighter ... I guess I may as well tell you why I've been chasing you for all these years, hmm? It doesn't really seem fair otherwise, does it?"   
  
He cast an amused glance up to her face and began pacing again. "I hope you're quite comfortable up there; I'm afraid it's going to be a rather long story."   
  
Five steps, about face, five steps, about face ... he strode forwards and back in front of her, never any more than three feet away, his black robes fluttering slightly as he moved. He stalked back and forth with feline grace and military precision, things she would have thought mutually exclusive until she saw the Dark Lord. His movements -- even his walk -- spoke of power; unbelievable power, controlled by unbelievable discipline ... it was almost hypnotic, his walk, watching him as he paced ... five steps, about face, five steps ...   
  
"When I finished off the new order of Jedi, Leia Organa Solo and her ilk, I thought I would be bored ... after all, what more challenge could the galaxy offer me once I had reduced the great Jedi Order to nothing?"   
  
He laughed, filling the Temple once more with the resonant echoes of his mirth, deep chuckles of dark amusement that would have sent strong men to their knees. If any Jedi remained -- their ghosts, their spirits, whatever could have remained after this man had cut ruthlessly down -- they would be screaming in rage at this profanity in their most sacred place. As it was, his laughter died into the quiet nothingness, leaving only the sounds of his boots as he paced the floor.   
  
"So imagine my surprise when, just a while after I finally killed Durron, he presented me with a list of _other_ Force-sensitives I had never heard of ... females, all of them, and all extraordinarily strong in the Force. Perhaps stronger than some of the Jedi, even. As it happened, my Master had been prepared before my birth -- he was looking for a child to train even before he had ever heard my name.   
  
"They were to be his Hands. Assassins, mercenaries, whatever suited his fancy ... but he found me instead, when Kenobi had to flee the planet after killing my father. Little blue-eyed blonde infant that I was, but already as strong as he'd ever seen ...   
  
"So I tracked you down. Killed you one by one. It was simple, really -- none of you had had any _real_ training in the Force, and even those who had received some had gotten sporadic training at best. Nowhere near as strenuous as hunting Jedi, but, for pure entertainment value, it would do in a pinch."   
  
He stopped pacing. Turned and faced her again. Arms clasped behind his back with military discipline, gaze trained unwaveringly upon her face.   
  
"You ... you're that last one. The most powerful. Odds are that, had my Master not found me all those years ago, he would have taken you as his student. If things had gone differently, our positions would have been reversed. That's why, I figured, we had that bond ... you're a shade from a past that might have been.   
  
"I saved you for last. I felt it -- dammit, I felt _something_ -- from the first moment I saw your name; it was something, nothing, all at once. Something deep inside that I will never be able to put into words. Something ... damn you, something that I never wanted to feel. I could feel you -- bonded to me somehow -- but it was a shadow of something that didn't exist. But even though it was just a hint, just a shadow of the thing ... it was enough. A shadow of something, maybe, a hint of what could have been, what might have been if things had been different, perhaps, but strong all the same ...   
  
"But, dammit, that's _all_ you are. You're a shadow of a maybe that never became real, and can never be real ... and now I get to kill you." He growled as he spoke, but he looked far more relaxed as he took the few steps between them. Far less angry than he had been a few moments before, and perhaps the ice had melted just the tiniest bit.   
  
He brought his hand up again, gently stroking her cheek. "I just didn't expect you to be so beautiful," he muttered again, to himself or to her she didn't know. His eyes ... it couldn't be denied now. There was something in his eyes that she couldn't identify -- by the hells, something she didn't want to identify ...   
  
"You ... you really love to hear yourself talk, don't you?" she gasped, straining against his hold to no avail despite the shudder his words elicited from her. He had loosened his grasp during his speech, but her limbs were still held fast to the wall. "Just kill me and get it over with, you dirty son of a Hutt!"   
  
He grabbed her chin, wrenching it up sharply so she had to look him in the eye. She bit off a gasp of surprise, fighting the pain his grasp had caused her, and glared defiantly back into his blue eyes. She couldn't move her jaw, still caught in his Force-hold, so it had to be enough.   
  
"I hate you," he growled, carefully studying her expression. His eyes were icy, promising death and a thousand things infinitely worse, and his fingers gripped her jaw with bruising force as he twisted her face towards his own. 

She spat.

He savagely backhanded her, splitting her lips in new places. She held back a cry, barely -- _this is it this is the part I die oh stars I don't want to die_ -- and raised her head again, still defiantly glaring at him.

"Damn you," he snarled, rage fueling his words and filling his eyes with something beyond simple hatred. "Damn you to the deepest Force-forsaken hell ... idiot Jedi, don't _look_ at me like that!" 

And then he leaned forward, firmly fastening his lips to hers for a long, drawn-out kiss that was like nothing she had ever experienced.

It started out roughly. 

Biting and nipping at her lips and tongue, demanding entrance into her mouth with an urgent need. Forcing her mouth open with aggressive jabs, plundering her mouth mercilessly, ruthlessly. A show of strength as he dominated and overpowered her, putting down her attempts at resistance until it she wanted to scream in defiance but couldn't ...

But slowly -- 

Slowly, it transformed into something totally different. 

His kiss turned into something else, something far less urgent and something far more tender. Soft lips lowered to meet her own, seemingly shaped just to meet with hers. A tongue flicking gently at her lips, teasing them open with gentle touches and feathery brushes. A perfect, cool, wet mouth meeting hers again, and again, soft, long, sipping kisses that seared her soul ...

He broke off, turning away abruptly while she tried to catch her breath. And decipher what had just happened. Her mind was tumbling, racing to and fro in its desperate attempt to determine _what_ had just happened, _why_ it had just happened -- whether or not the universe was pulling the greatest prank she could ever have imagined ...

He turned back to face her, face once more composed as he silently regarded his captive. He _looked_ the same, but totally different. His posture, the set of his face was the same as it had been before -- angry and powerful and full of some unfathomable dark purpose -- but gods, his eyes ... his eyes held some expression she had never seen in them before. It wasn't hatred -- in fact, it seemed the farthest thing from hate imaginable ... 

"I hate you," he whispered again, stepping forward to gently trace a hand down her cheek. She shuddered at the tingling sensations elicited by his touch; despite whatever lies she told herself, she was equally torn between jerking away from the cool caress of his fingers and leaning more deeply into the intimate feel of his hand. The look in his eyes, the touch of his skin, the cadence of his voice -- all belied the meaning of his words.

His eyes had softened; the icy perfection had melted into something far more welcoming. They beckoned her closer, enticing and beguiling, promising things that they had no right to promise. They made her think of home, of warm nights gently cradled in strong arms. They made her think of peace, days and weeks and months without being on the run, constantly dodging Imperial forces, constantly wondering if she could survive until the next dawn.

His hand traced the curve of her cheek, lingering over the cuts her struggles had caused, elegant fingers dancing over her skin. He trailed a gentle path down her face, carefully wiping away her tears with tender strokes of his long fingers. He brought up his palm, cupped her face in his hand, and, despite herself, she found herself leaning into his touch. It felt ... it felt _right_, somehow. Right in a way she couldn't define, right in a way she could hardly begin to understand.

He moved on from her face to her neck, and he pulled closer. She found herself inhaling his scent -- _stars he smells like sunshine how can he smell like sunshine damn him to hell he shouldn't smell like sunshine_ -- and would have gasped in surprise if she could. She would have shuddered if her muscles were under her control. Not because his touch was repulsive, though, but because it wasn't -- because, despite the fact that he was in the perfect position to snap her neck like a twig, she felt safe. Because his touch made her feel safe and she didn't want him to make her feel safe and she wanted to hate him but couldn't quite manage to do it.

His hands laced themselves in her hair, calloused hands through soft hair, running through endless eternities of the softest red silk in any of the galaxy's planets. His fingers ran through her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. The feel of his fingers running through her hair, the purely blissful sensation of his touch, woke nerve endings that had been slumbering for what seemed like eons, calling them back to life after decades and centuries of nothingness. They called something within her, something she had thought long dead, something that felt so _right_ somewhere deep inside her heart and soul.

His voice was soft, compelling. It was hypnotic and melodic, smooth and dark; it called to her. It bespoke of hopes and dreams and fantasies that might once have been shadows of possibility. His tone was full of some emotion she did not want to think about, did not want to even begin to guess. Because, had he been any other man in the galaxy ... she might have called it affection. Or warmth. Or tenderness.

Or maybe ... maybe even ...

He stepped away, pulling back from her. And oh gods, she didn't know how that made her feel because her body -- stars, her heart, her soul -- screamed for his touch while her mind shrieked in protest. Because, damn him, he was her weakness, had always been her weakness; even while he was tracking her across the galaxy, even as she fled from planet to planet just to escape his saber -- but, by the Force, there was nothing she could do to make it stop ... 

"I hate you," he murmured, eyes still full of that emotion she didn't want to contemplate, hand gently stroking her cheek with something akin to tenderness, "because, had things been different ... I think I may have loved you."

He flicked his fingers slightly and, suddenly, the Force-hold on her body was gone. She would have tumbled to the ground, bonelessly weary in body, mind, and soul, had his arms not been there to catch her before she landed. His arms ... stars, dammit, his strong arms around her, cradling her to his broad chest. A gentle voice in her ear, crooning soft nonsense words as he carefully took her into his embrace ...

"Because you make me feel things I have never felt before ..."

Soft blond hair, feathery soft ...

"Things that I have no right to feel ..."

His broad, muscular chest ...

"Things that I don't understand, that I never wanted to understood ..."

The peace she found in his embrace ...

"I think I might love you, even now ... and dammit, there's nothing I can do to make it stop ..."

The oblivion of happiness and comfort ...

"Except maybe ... this ..."

He pulled away from her, carefully letting her onto the ground as he regarded her with his beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that were filled with that indefinable emotion -- after all, who could define love? -- and a weary resolve. Eyes that were windows to his soul, the soul that was screaming in agony and despair at his intention. Eyes that let her see into his heart, all the hatred and anger ... and the one spot of light, the one shadow of maybe that would have been -- might have been, could have been, should have been --

She closed her eyes, blocking away the sight of his stars-damned gaze. Because, dammit, she could lose herself in those eyes forever, without a thought to the fate of the world or the galaxy or whatever else might be in danger from this demon in an angel's body.

She thought she felt a feathery touch to her forehead, even as she heard his lightsaber ignite with a muted _snap-hiss_. 

And then his voice, his warm breath whispering into her ear -- "Goodbye, love."

Finis


End file.
